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sparksintheashes · 3 years ago

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melody in static; chapter 15

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what u should know;

@tiesthatbind-tf verse, quintesson-era [1930s]

cw; Description of infection.

THAT'S IT, WE DONE FOR THE YEAR. Yes it's arguably another cliffhanger but arc 3 WILL happen, and I am a very tired/drained bean so if I do any writing it's going straight to buffer. >8U

Once again thanks to @artsy-hobbitses for letting me play in the sandbox. I hope I haven't broken anything. 8')

A full day later, and Victor had not awoken.

That alone was not surprising, and given the fact that the flesh about his wound was red and inflamed? Perhaps it was for the best. But as Pravda and Owais searched through the Spire, first ensuring that there were no Quintessons en route to reclaim it anytime soon - a quick connection through Primus ensured that things were, for the moment, safe. That said, there had apparently been a move to try and catch some of Titanomachia's activities; they had miraculously pulled back some days in advance, reportedly, due to a 'timely warning'.

Pravda didn't realize how timely until she had reported Victor's status to Primus and Aillard, and heard a long stretch of silence on the other end. She waited patiently, knowing her friends would tell her if they were ready...but she hadn't expected what they were going to say.

"He did what?"

Primus's voice was ever-calm, ever-serene, despite the dire news of their companions' injuries. The stronger connection through the Quintessons' systems allowed a full audio link, much like a telephone; still, she could only imagine Primus's expression as they continued their explanation. "Traveled through time as well as space to warn us of Soner's machinations. I would expect the stress of the journey has led, in some part, to his deep sleep."

"And you did not think to tell me he could do this!?"

There was a long exhale on the other end - Aillard, she recognized. "Pravda, from what Primus has told me, this is an extremely delicate ability. In some cases, not knowing something is the best way to utilize it - we could not warn Victor before he had warned us, for example."

"Not without risking paradox," Primus agreed. "And based on the data I possess from previous experiments, such is to be avoided at all costs."

It was Pravda's turn to let out a long, slow breath as she reached up to rub her face. She trusted Primus's judgment, Aillard's too, but she still couldn't help but feel as if she had been kept in the dark. More than she'd realized; with Soner being responsible for many of the troubles and delays along their path, she was berating herself for not having seen the signs, not having been able to protect Victor from him, allowing her own feelings to get in the way…

"Pravda." That was Aillard, and she lowered her hand with a rueful expression. She could all but see her friend before her, giving her one of his soft, understanding expressions. "None of this is your fault. And you said that the...whatever it was, the monstre was dealt with?"

At her sound of affirmation, Primus took over, voice grim. "There is a high possibility that the creature was, in fact, Soner himself. There are critical failures in the experimentations, especially if one's genetic sequence is still volatile; it is possible that Soner found some sort of trigger to destabilize his own. Killing him was as much a mercy as it was necessary."

At that, she snorted. "He deserved no mercy," she groused, thinking over what they'd told her - what Victor had told them. It was still difficult to imagine that the man had been able to accomplish such a feat. It certainly explained his strained appearance, though that could also be attributed to blood loss…

Speaking of. There was no way to travel quickly, spacebridging aside. Which left a very, very important question to be asked;

"What do we do with him?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder towards the others. The Beastmen were at home, here in the Spire's vast vivarium, albeit now without a lock on the metaphorical gates; they roamed in and out freely, with efforts being made to connect the ocean level to the ocean itself to allow their kin to fully escape. The question as to what the others were going to do was still in the air; they knew they could only stay here so long. The fact was, Quintesson forces could notice the lack of communication at any moment and come to investigate; the sooner they could fully evacuate, the better.

But as Owais said, some could not survive on the outside - at least, not yet. And while Primus was certain they could assist with further modifications to allow them to do so, the fact was, Primus had no way of getting here with Victor unconscious.

The situation was well evident to the other two, as well. She could hear Aillard letting out a slow breath of his own, and could easily visualize him rubbing the bridge of his nose. "The Quintesson equipment there might be able to help him," he said, glum despite the suggestion. "But, with all respect, Pravda-" "-I would not dare touch it myself," she agreed. "We would need Primus to manage it." And they'd already established that while Primus could access systems with a remote connection, it was quite another thing entirely to direct the systems in any heavy use. "None of the others here seem as if they could control it, either," she continued, thinking of Aillard's affinity with the tech as her eyes rested on the small shelter that housed Scarlett and Victor. It was clearly meant for two people, and she suspected that she knew the other resident, but for now, she kept such thoughts to herself.

For now. She would not have a repeat of Soner.

Scarlett had barely left Victor's side since the end of the battle, though her lack of digits made it difficult at best to tend to him; for that, Haytham had assisted, his nimble fingers making light work of the wound tending. But even with what Quintesson resources they could utilize, the flesh was a hot, angry red. A sharp contrast to the rest of the man's pale skin, despite the fever that had risen in him. It seemed all they could do for the moment was to treat him and hope his body could fight off the rest, but…

"I have reached out to Titanomachia," Primus noted. "They are willing to offer shelter and resources if you can get to them, but they dare not risk sending an escort with the Quintessons still looking for them."

Again, something Victor's abilities would have overcome with ease. Had they begun to rely on him too much? Pravda made a face, glad her expression was hidden for now. Using him, indeed. "I will keep that in mind. We would need a new guide - I am not certain I could lead us back, but perhaps one of the others."

"Keep us updated," Aillard sighed. "We will reach out, as well, if other options arise."

"Of course. Be safe, my friends." Waiting only long enough for their own farewells, Pravda then set down the tablet and leaned back against the tree. Her eyes closed as she tried to imagine the trek back with an injured man; she only had so much knowledge of the condition, but from what she did know, the longer Victor remained unconscious, the less likely it was that he'd wake up. As much as she hoped that she was worrying about nothing and that he'd come to in a few hours, she couldn't dismiss the worst case scenario that he wouldn't wake up.

The guilt was sharp and bitter. Damn you, Soner, she thought, clenching her hand without realizing it. If Owais hadn't trampled him into pulp, she would have pummeled him into it herself. Or charred him with her plasma - one of the two. Perhaps a mixture. It was a cold comfort, but one she clung to nonetheless before opening her eyes as she heard footsteps.

It was Sylvia - the wolf-woman. In her hands was a plate of food, which, while simple fare, still smelt better than Pravda'd had in some time - she was no cook, herself, but it seemed that some of the Beastmen were. Offering a thin smile of thanks, she accepted the serving, then tilted her head at Sylvia gesturing towards a small group holding their own meal.

"Owais would like to hear of your news, when you're ready to share."

Seeing no reason to put it off, Pravda pushed herself up to her feet and joined them. Owais was there, of course, though no others she recognized apart from Sylvia; a younger man who seemed to have been crossed with a hare, a woman that was perhaps some weasel, and another whose animal she couldn't quite make out - some sort of lizard? They all seemed pleasant enough, and Owais himself nodded in greeting before offering introductions.

"Shen, Portia, and Cerma. Pravda." After a moment, he continued, somber; "Shen found Peyman in the walls - we believe Soner may have killed him first."

Again, more betrayal. She grimaced. "I am sorry to have brought him here," she grumbled, to which Owais waved a hand.

"You say you did not know; I believe you." He pressed his lips together, shaking his head. "We will hold a ceremony for him and the other two who fell during the fight, later. Will you be joining us?" She didn't even think about it. "If you would have me. They fought bravely."

A nod. "We will remember them. What of your own?" He cast a pointed look towards the shelter Pravda had noted before. And as she related what she had gathered - which wasn't much, only that their options were few and they would have to find help as opposed to wait for it to come - he made a thoughtful sound, considering what he himself had at hand. "The people here come from all over; I do not doubt there is someone here who could help, and it is the least we can do to provide an escort of our own."

Pravda let out a slow breath, glad that Owais had brought it up himself. She had been worried that the man would be firmer in blaming her for his losses; perhaps him pulverizing Soner had been for the best. "Thank you," she earnestly said, only for him to offer a dry chuckle in return.

"I doubt Scarlett will leave Victor at this point," he wryly observed, drawing forth a wan smile of Pravda's own. "And while you both fight well, there is more to face out there than Quintessons. Haytham would be invaluable to you, and he has already volunteered." "Haytham?" She tilted her head, thinking of the avian-man...and then, Mina. She slowly nodded in agreement, remembering how useful the scout had been back on the first part of their journey. "If he is willing." "There is something else."

Speak of the devil. Heads turned towards the voice, and there he was - brown feathers and dark skin broken up by the blue-greens of his tight garb. Most of those here wore loose wrappings, so the fact he had made an effort to keep his as close to his body as possible was curious in itself; perhaps a matter of culture or personal preference. It hardly mattered at the moment; Pravda was more interested in what he had to say, though by the looks of things, he was having trouble finding the words. Still, the group waited patiently as he started, halted a few times, then made a noise of frustration before speaking in another tongue to Owais.

Owais tilted his head and listened patiently before his eyes began to grow wide. He questioned Haytham in return, who nodded and pointed back towards whence he'd come. Owais followed the gesture, narrowing his eyes slightly before nodding and turning his attention back towards the group as Haytham quickly headed off.

"Are you set on Titanomachia?" he asked Pravda. She blinked, considered for a moment, then shook her head.

"Not if there is a closer option." "I do not know about closer, but..." Owais looked at those gathered. "One of our people once studied the workings of Al-Kimiya. A kind of alchemy," he clarified at the puzzled expressions he was given in return. "Though they are long out of practice, they had a fellow student who excelled - and even if she is gone, their teacher might not be." Another quest to seek a possibly-dead figure? Pravda couldn't help but frown at the thought. "I am not eager to rest his life on a 'might'," she admitted, and Owais made a sympathetic noise.

"I thought not - but Iesa has joined us only within the past few months. Until then, they were in close contact - and they were attempting to hybridize the teachings with Quintesson work."

That changed things. Recent information...Pravda reconsidered. She would have to doublecheck with Aillard and Primus, but from the impression she had gotten, Titanomachia did not have many skilled doctors - that was to say, more than was necessary to keep it alive. Yes, they had scavenged Quintesson technology, but how much of that was more than war-science? But - alchemy? It was hard to overcome a bias, a thought that such was little more than dabbling witchcraft.

...but perhaps that was exactly what they needed, she realized. Something to combat the Quintessons' own. "We would need to speak more," she allowed, "but I would learn about this, yes."

—-------------

After speaking with Iesa, Aillard, Primus, and even Logos - who confirmed Titanomachia's situation - Pravda was left sitting by Victor and watching him rest as she mulled over the options. It had been made clear that this was her decision, and while she did not begrudge such, there was the childlike desire to take someone else and throw it in their hands. To have someone else take responsibility, and if it succeeded, all the better for she cared not for credit. But if they failed…

If Victor died, not only did they lose one of their greatest assets, but she would lose a friend. Oh, she had thought she already had lost him, but that frantic apology, that look in his face when she'd pulled him off the ground - that was the Victor she remembered, that was what had caused her heart to twist with a realization she had not yet understood. And she had lost so very many friends over the years, to lose another as he came back from a place he had not gone to of his own full will...

She looked up as Scarlett seated herself on the man's other side. She, too, was pale, though not nearly as bad as her husband; instead, she was drained for another reason. Which Pravda could understand, but at the same time, as she cast a glance outside the shelter...

"Were you going to tell him?" Pravda couldn't help but ask. Scarlett blinked for a moment, then followed Pravda's gaze - and then let out a slow breath as she closed her eyes.

"I wanted to." She opened them after a long moment, gaze back down at Victor before she began to busy herself with investigating his dressings. "We have...a lot to talk about, and I wouldn't keep it from him. Do you think less of me for it?" she abruptly asked, looking up.

"For finding someone else? No." Scarlett eased, but only for a moment, as Pravda wasn't done speaking. "For pushing him away...?"

Her smile was bitter, but - it was a smile nonetheless. A tight one, full of pain and regret, and Scarlett dropped her eyes once more. "He told you, did he," she murmured, her claw resting on the cloth. Pravda studied her face for a moment, then moved her hand to gently push Scarlett's aside; it took the other woman a moment to realize what she was doing, but when she did, she allowed Pravda to start undoing the work. It gave her a chance to turn, to reach for the clean cloths, to keep busy as she spoke. "I thought I was saving him. All I could think about back then, was that I needed to protect him, and if they were after me...at least one of us could survive. I didn't know," she added, voice tightening as she shut her eyes once more. "I didn't know they were going to take everybody, I thought...I thought I was saving him," she said again, voice cracking. There was a long pause. Pravda had nothing to say, and so she said nothing; that, and she could tell there was more to this.

And there it was- "And then, once the changes started happening, once I was moved here...I thought I'd never see him again." Scarlett's voice was a miserable whisper as she slowly, almost numbly offered Pravda the wet rags to clean the wound. "Haytham and I...it's only been a year. Only," she repeated, before almost laughing. "I'd given up that I'd ever see Victor again, and I knew he'd want me to be happy, and I thought- I thought, perhaps if he was still alive, perhaps he knew I'd want him to be happy, too."

Another stretch of quiet. They finished in silence as Pravda mulled over the words, and if Scarlett was awaiting her judgment, she offered no sign. Still, when Pravda had finished securing the new wrappings, she reached for Scarlett's claw once more.

"I do not think less of you," she began, "but I will if you do not tell him what you have told me, once he wakes up."

Scarlett swallowed. "You think he...?" she asked, not able to finish her hope.

Pravda thought back to what Aillard had told her, to what Primus had told her - and what Victor had told them. And for the first time in a long while, she managed a small - but real - smile of her own. After all, Aillard had mentioned that sometimes ignorance was for the best, and perhaps in some cases this was true. But in this one...

Victor, apparently, had at least one more trip ahead of him. And knowing that gave her a strange sense of hope that she herself hadn't felt in some time - except it wasn't just hope. It was something more.

"I know he will."

#transformers #humanformers #maccadam #fic

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sparksintheashes · 3 years ago

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melody in static; chapter 14

previous . index . next

what u should know;

@tiesthatbind-tf verse, quintesson-era [1930s]

cw; Vague drug addiction reference. Explicit body horror, violence, injury, named character death in fairly brutal detail. This is a harsh chapter. Please be warned.

---------------

Victor's eyes blearily focused towards the voice, only so far behind him and leaning against the wall. The voice sounded as weak as he was, which was, at least, somewhat reassuring - and there, there was Soner slumped against the wall, holding a small object in his palm. A ring, it seemed, his ring that he'd worn and fiddled with so often and that Victor now imagined was some sort of way of contacting his masters. And so, he offered a bitter smile. "Me," he confirmed.

Soner stared for a moment longer before looking down at the ring, and then back up at Victor. He was pale from blood loss, but appeared to have managed a makeshift tourniquet; enough to keep from bleeding out, apparently, but not much more than that. And as Victor tried to parse how long he'd been gone 'here', Soner's face twisted once more into something ugly.

"You did something," he spat accusingly. "They have said- they are telling me there was nothing-!" His hand clenched into a fist, tight enough for the knuckles to turn white, and Victor managed a shaky laugh as he started to push himself up.

"Then it all worked?...thank you for telling me," he said, unable to resist rubbing just a bit of salt into the wound. Soner deserved that and more, and he could see some color return to the man's face as rage filled it. But he still had a task to finish, didn't he-? If nothing else, he needed to check in on Pravda and the others...

...now, where had Soner put his tablet? He cast the man a glance, but he was back to fiddling with his ring, and as soon as he realized he was being watched he shot Victor a dark look. Apparently, he'd determined that while Victor had no intention of outright killing him, he was under no obligation to be helpful; fair enough, Victor determined, though he did bend down to pick up the man's flask and, once he'd determined there was still some left in it (and fought off the brief flare of urge to down it, himself), slide it across the floor towards the other man.

"For the pain," he suggested, voice curt. As much as that urge to drink was still there, he remembered how Soner had tried to force it down his throat; likely, the whole flask was drugged, and he wouldn't risk compromising himself when he was already so haggard. Soner picked it up after a moment, at least, lowering his gaze as he fumbled one-handedly with it. Content that the man was occupied for now, Victor took in his first good look at the room.

It appeared to be some sort of control center, for there was a terminal apparently designed for one of the Quintesson's make; their strange interface was ill-designed for human hands, though he rather thought one could operate such in a pinch. Otherwise, the walls were sparse, a few dim screens taking up most of one but leaving the rest of the room otherwise empty. Peyman, poor Peyman, was nowhere in sight - likely left to rot within the walls, and Victor made a mental note to bring it up to Owais when he next saw him. It was the least he could do, the very least, he didn't think it was possible to save him even with his discovered abilities...especially if Hei was any sign of what would happen if he so directly interfered with such things. A shudder ran through him at the recent memory, but did he owe the man to try...? It wasn't fair to-

"Fair?" Victor heard Soner repeat, belatedly realizing that he must have spoken some of that aloud. He glanced over his shoulder as the man continued to speak. "There is no 'fair', my friend, and you are a fool if you think otherwise."

Apparently he hadn't had the alcohol, or whatever was in it had already hit him. Victor scoffed, shaking his head. "I didn't ask for your input," he said icily.

Soner gave a snort of his own, slowly and painfully pushing himself to his feet. "And I did not ask for you to go and ruin my work," he spat. "Ever since- ever since they came, I have spent every moment finding ways to get ahead, and now you- I am worthless to them now!" His voice took on a shrill tone. "Less than worthless, I am untrustworthy, you have destroyed years-!"

And yet, every word Soner said made Victor all the more satisfied. He clenched his jaw, grim but savoring this victory, at least. "Are you expecting an apology, Soner?" he retorted. "You lied to me, drugged me, tried to give me to the Quintessons - and how many other lives have you ruined?"

Soner barked out a harsh laugh, reaching to cradle his wound. All told, Victor was surprised he hadn't fallen unconscious - he could only assume that whatever modifications Soner had gone through had given his body some sort of heightened tolerance for injury, not dissimilar from a heavy laborer. And yet, he was still clearly in pain; pale, sweating, and utterly unlike the easygoing man Victor had once considered a friend. "Look at the world around you, Victor - oh, you have your little resistances, your tiny outposts of cooperation, but past those?" he sneered. "The only way to live is when others do not - you and your monster of a wife could have enjoyed a place among royalty, and now you all will die when the Quintessons come to clean up-!"

It was one thing to insult Victor. But Scarlett...Victor found himself wishing he still had Rhisling in its altered form, set to the man's throat. He growled nonetheless, taking a step forward. "I would rather die as a man than live as a traitor!" he snarled viciously, gripping his fists.

There was an odd glint in Soner's eyes, and he smiled - or, rather, bared his teeth. It reminded Victor of some of Magnes' savage grins, but this - this was different. "I would be happy to help you with that," Soner said, voice almost manic as he brought his hand - his ring to his mouth. And then-

-then he bit down on it, shattering what Victor had thought was some sort of gemstone. But no simple gemstone could fracture like that, no gemstone would release purple energy that crackled briefly about Soner's face before spreading to the rest of his body. Victor's step forward abruptly became a step back as he sucked in a breath of surprise, only able to watch in stunned horror as Soner's red eyes briefly took on a violet hue. Then the man hunched over, heaving in what sounded like agony as his breathing became only more and more labored; that energy continued to writhe about him like a set of snakes, enveloping him with coils that seemed to draw out his very blood vessels.

During the Great War, and even the Invasion, Victor had heard about certain soldiers - scouts, mostly, or outright spies - being given special pills. Death drugs, to be taken as a last resort when surrounded or otherwise in a hopeless position. For those of great importance, or holding information of great importance - but Soner had seemed like none of these and yet, it brought to mind the parallel. A moment later he understood just why that had come to mind - Soner's body was, for lack of a better word, twisting. And something else had come into mind, Primus's words from his time with Inquirata-

-cementing your modifications-

As Soner's body began to reshape itself in some horrific reaction to the energy, something abruptly sprouting through bandages on his arm, Victor reached for Rhisling. But he wasn't thinking of the weapon, anymore; perhaps later he would, could call himself a coward, but he wanted no part of this, and absolutely had to warn Pravda and the others of whatever the hell was going on now!

Before him, the comforting gold energy - a sharp contrast to the darker hue that was starting to fade about Soner's form - quickly laid forth his escape. Through it, he could see a flash of white, hear the sound of animalistic howls, but these were far, far more appealing than remaining where he was. He dove through, fully intending on letting the portal shut behind him-

-except it had blocked the sight of Soner moving around, and the once-man slammed into his back with a screech that sounded like nothing so much as Inquirata's rage-filled shrieks from those months ago. Victor's shout of alarm added to the cacophony, and he spun around frantically as he lost his balance, back thudding against the ground as he stared wide-eyed up into the face of what Soner had become.

Where before he wasn't an ugly-seeming man, now he was a hideous monster. His flesh itself had mutated, adopting the texture of the sickening char that was the trademark wound of a Quintesson's energy weapon. Like a mass of scar tissue and burnt flesh, it had grown into tumor-like lumps and masses, ripping through clothing and disfiguring any identifying features that Soner might once have had. In the case of his missing arm, it had formed into tendrils not unlike a Quintesson's limbs, only these seemed to be pure muscle without skin to cover or shield.

Other features had changed, as well, disproportionately growing or shrinking; his eyes were mere black pinpricks, swathed in folds of flesh, where his mouth - the mouth was a gaping, grinning maw that split his head in two, full of teeth like some horrific mixture between a shark and a lamprey. And though the great bulk that was the upper body kept Victor from seeing too much of the rest, he thought rather the lower half had grown smaller, as if mass had shifted from one place to another - or perhaps it was just a matter of comparison?

Either way. It was, in a word, revolting. And it smelt just as bad, a violet fume erupting from the mouth and bathing Victor's face as he gagged and tried to shove him, it, off of his form. "Get- get off me!" And now, as it cackled over him, mismatched teeth clacking against eachother and dripping putrid saliva, now he wanted Rhisling's edge, he threw his hand out to the side and tried to visualize it as a sword as he did a spacebridge, tried to call it to his hand.

The Soner-thing simply leaned forwards and brought down its maw.

It was only the coat that kept Victor's arm from being ripped clean off in an ironic mirror of what he'd done to Soner; as it was, Victor screamed, feeling some of the longer teeth pierce through what armor there was and into his skin. And like a dog with a rabbit, the thing twisted its head left, right, ready to tear through the resistance, Victor's arm felt ice-cold as the saliva fell against, into his flesh-

And then, a blast of heat. White fire slammed into it, and it screeched in agony, the motion forcing its mouth off of Victor's shoulder. But the pain alone was more than enough to make him woozy, and Victor could only barely manage to try and take advantage of the opportunity as he twisted to roll aside. But just when he'd thought himself free of its grasp, those arm-tendrils reached forwards, seizing his legs to drag back into its clutches.

"GET AWAY FROM HIM!"

A blur of motion. A form leaping over him and onto the thing - a familiar flash of red as Scarlett grabbed whatever she could and thrust with her tail. The Soner-thing let out another shriek, flailing about as Scarlett moved like a dancer, tail stabbing with every other motion as she fought to stay on its form. Victor clutched his wound in agony as someone else moved next to him, her blue eyes wide as she looked him over. "Victor, are you-"

"I'm sorry," he gasped, feeling wetness in his eyes as he met hers. "I was - oh, God, Pravda, I'm so sorry."

That blue brightened in brief surprise before Pravda narrowed her eyes, shaking her head. "Later," she curtly said, briefly casting a glance over her shoulder before throwing out a hand in that direction - white energy (so similar and different from the violet that had consumed Soner-!) erupted from her palm before she returned her attention fully to Victor, helping him sit up. But his vision swam even more at the motion, and he feebly pushed at her, feeling nauseous. There was a sharp intake of breath from Pravda before he felt a hand tug at his coat, and he couldn't have fought her if he'd wanted to as she quickly made a haphazard attempt to bind his injury before picking him up as though he weighed nothing.

A new shriek - one with a painful familiarity. Victor turned his head to the side just in time to catch sight of Scarlett being thrown off Soner's form, and he reached forwards instinctively, a futile attempt to catch her or perhaps call forth his weapon to defend her, he could not lose her again!

But instead, as if answering his call, sunset-colored wings spread wide like a cobra's hood as Owais bodily charged into the monster. It tried to twist, to bite, but Owais's great form held the strength of not one, but three; the winged centaur forced himself atop Soner and began to stomp with his hooves, throwing every bit of strength he had into trampling the traitor. The thing's cries crew fainter and fainter with each brutal slam, but so did Victor's vision.

The last thing he saw were a set of hate-filled red eyes gazing towards him - and then, the suffocating nausea of a darkness.

------------------

By the time the thing was still and silent, it was nothing so much as a mass of pulp. Pravda tried not to look at it as she moved to where Scarlett was picking herself up, only so worse for the wear. Her chitin-skin had protected her from the worst of its attacks, but she was still visibly distressed - with good reason, for Victor appeared to have passed out. Whether from blood loss or the simple shock of the injury remained to be seen, but hardly mattered; Scarlett took one look at him before looking at Pravda in a silent plea, and Pravda nodded before carefully moving him into her arms. "I will help the others," she said, but as she turned around - she could see that the rest of the Beastmen had things well in hand, talon, or whatever appendage they possessed.

Indeed, they were formidable fighters; when the soldier-Quintessons had arrived and stormed through the great doors, the Beastmen had already positioned themselves to take advantage of it. With Pravda volunteering to be bait, she was the flame that the Quintessons flew to as moths; Owais and his people only needed to close the trap about them.

But Victor's appearance had been a surprise. He was supposed to come in, yes, but also to give a signal before he did so Pravda would know to extract herself and ready the tablet for Primus to take their own action. Coming in screaming with some sort of creature trying to devour him was...not part of the plan, to say the least, but Pravda hadn't hesitated to separate nonetheless and come to his aid.

As Owais wiped his hooves off on the grass with an air of distaste, she took a closer look at the gory mass. As disgusting as it was, something had caught her attention, and there- fabric. Grimacing, she reached to pull it free, and it took her a moment to recognize it.

It was part of Soner's fez. She looked back at the monster, then back at the fabric, then back once more, and - yes, she could see other pieces of his garb. But the tearing was odd, it didn't seem that pieces had been torn off so much as torn through...

...perhaps she was imagining things. Certainly not the stench; she wrinkled her nose as she moved towards Owais, making a brief gesture with the fabric to catch his attention. "I think we have lost Soner," she said, grim.

Owais furrowed his brow, looking first at her hand before back at the pulp. "...Peymen would not have let either of them come to harm," he slowly noted, the implications as loud as the solemn silence that followed. Pravda bowed her head in respect before making another gesture, this one back towards where Scarlett was tending to Victor's wounds.

"We will ask him for information when he wakes up." At Owais's nod, she continued on more immediate matters with, "How did your people fare?"

His smile was thin and humorless, the victory without joy. "From what Sylvia has reported, we have won - but at a cost. I have asked some of the unwounded to start searching the Spire - perhaps we will discover what happened to the others on our own. But I cannot say I have ever seen something like that," he added with a gesture at the thing's remains. "Not even with those of us who...did not take well to their modifications."

Pravda recalled such poor souls from her own past, and couldn't hold back a shudder at the thought. The Quintessons were generally neat with their experiments, though not always clean; in contrast, even before being trampled into a mess, the creature had seemed...chaotic. An unnatural twisting of flesh into a form that such itself was fighting; perhaps it would not have been long for this world, even had it not needed to be destroyed. Had Victor and the others encountered it on their way to the command station...?

Once more, she looked towards Scarlett. The woman seemed to have finished most of the immediate triage, and was now cradling Victor's head in her lap, slowly stroking his bloodied hair with a claw. After a moment, she looked up, seemingly having felt being watched - and all Pravda could see in those eyes?

Was her upset.

#transformers #maccadam #humanformers #fic #this is not the end #but we're close

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sparksintheashes · 3 years ago

Text

melody in static; chapter 13

previous . index . next

what u should know;

@tiesthatbind-tf verse, quintesson-era [1930s]

cw; Dead bodies. Vague drug addiction reference. Does 'allusion to cosmic horror' count?

Apologies for the delay in posting! I ended up getting Con Crud from TFCon and I'm still not over it, but I'm at least well enough to wrap things up this week.

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Primus was not one to waste idle processing time. In a sense, they couldn't; this did not mean it was impossible to relax so much as there was always something going on in the back of their mind. True, the concept of relaxing as humans understood it was foreign to them, but Aillard and Pravda both were excellent teachers in their own way, of explaining things that Primus had before only experienced through observation. Viewing humans through such lenses as they once had access to was one thing; actually interacting was far, far different.

Indeed, before enabling their escape, those two were the only sources it had for such data. And then Victor, for those weeks, whom himself had been enlightening and further proof of just how resilient these humans were-! More than worthy of holding their own planet, and if Primus could be of assistance, well, such would be the closest thing they knew to an 'honor' as they had ever experienced. Now living in the midst of them, those opinions had not changed. But they were growing more and more used to being surprised; whether by persons who had been trying to watch unobtrusively, to individual rituals that seemed to have no sense or logic, or even by glimpses of humanity's darker side such as quiet murmurs that it was merely here to spy on them...in a sense, Primus expected no less than one new discovery per day, at this point, and hadn't been disappointed yet.

Of course, a spacebridge opening counted only so much as a surprise or discovery - but the figure that stepped through certainly fit. For it was Victor, but he wasn't the same Victor who had spoken with Primus but an hour ago; this one resembled Pravda during an overexertion of her powers, hollow and pale and missing something. And while Primus thought there was more to it than that, Victor met their gaze and, without so much as a greeting;

"I'm from five months ahead."

Primus's eyes brightened as they calculated the implications. All of them. Nevermind the fact that they had warned Victor against time travel in the first place, citing the Quintessons' previous attempts; the fact that he had not only managed it, but tried it in the first place, meant things were dire indeed. For him to reach back and make contact...

"What are you trying to change?" they asked, only to be further surprised at Victor's wan, humorless smile.

"I believe I've managed most of them...but you had mentioned that we had spoken 'earlier'. I thought it best not to disappoint."

Oh, those implications, Primus did not like at all. And Victor's expression lost any humor as they spoke. "I would hope not. All data indicates paradoxes like that are what caused the catastrophes we spoke of." They took a moment to look about, noting how Victor's face paled further, then lowered their voice further as they returned their attention to him in full. "Am I correct in guessing this is your first venture, overall?"

Victor wet his lips with his tongue, slowly nodding. "In a sense, I...had a few stops before here, obviously, but- I didn't know I could do this." He took a breath, then moved to take a seat on one of the smaller crates. Two were set up by a larger one, acting as a makeshift table; here in London's tunnels, actual furniture was makeshift at best, and there simply hadn't been any to afford to Aillard and Pravda despite their status as more-or-less guests. "Believe me, I wouldn't have tried if things weren't so dire-"

"Victor." Primus waited until the man was looking at him before continuing. "I know you; I trust you," they emphasized, provoking another smile that looked almost sad. But they kept speaking, filing the expression away for later. "You wouldn't have done this unless you thought you had no choice, but you must be cautious. Should you contradict what has already happened..."

"But how would I know?" Victor countered, sounding frustrated. "Other than some of Rhisling's energies seeming strange - which I tried to avoid," he quickly added, seeing Primus's aghast reaction, "I haven't any idea if I'm doing this properly or not. Or if there is a proper way," he added gloomily. "I've tried to limit what I've done to making sense, at least of how I recall things, but..."

"...but that is quite a lot in itself," Primus noted, pensive. After a moment of thought, they shook their head. "I don't know what help I can be to you, Victor. I'm not sure what my future self said, but- what I do know is that timespace wants to move in a certain direction. While you may be able to alter some parts, I would be slow to make any extreme changes - such as trying to stop a war," they said with as much dry humor as they could manage.

To his credit, Victor managed a soft but real smile in response - apparently seeing what humor there was to be seen. "Tempting, but I think we've long passed that point," he drawled - and Primus nodded once more.

"The further back you go, the more difficult things would logically be - as Rhisling still 'tethers' you to when and where you came, if the Quintessons' notes on the matter are correct. They believed severing that tether through extreme action was what triggered the collapse into black holes, as the timeline could no longer correct itself as necessary and so abandoned what changes had been made."

The man was quiet for a long few moments, clearly considering Primus's words. When he spoke, his words were slow, cautious. "I've already been told I met someone in the past, but I have no memory of it...and there's something I want to try, but I don't know if it would be considered 'extreme' or not. Who defines such a thing?" he wondered, rubbing his face wearily, and once again Primus noted how pale he was. An overexertion of energy, no doubt, and they moved forwards to touch his shoulder in reassurance.

"You said you managed most of what you needed?" At Victor's nod, Primus squeezed with their long, thin fingers. "Then I would strongly urge you to return. You need rest - if you did meet someone before, then it is possible it was from a later transport - the nature of time travel allows you to put things off for a later date without much trouble." Again, that dry humor. "So long as it is done - in a sense, it already has been done. Do you understand?"

It took him a moment, but Victor nodded before too long. "I believe so. But there's one more thing I need to do," he insisted, voice firm. And Primus could only nod, sliding back to give him room.

"Then go. I can only hope that I've given you what you needed during this stop."

Once more, there was a smile. "I do believe you have."

—---------------------

So long as it is done - in a sense, it already has been done.

With these words, Victor traveled back further. Primus was right, that he needed rest - or at least to return, and see how things had fared, if his actions had done anything. But before he did, there was one final stop, one final need- and perhaps it wasn't directly related to Soner's machinations, but this? This was important.

And so, as Victor stepped out of Rhisling into the battle-mussed laboratory, he was all nerves and strained senses, tense and ready to flee if need be. There'd been none of that strange energy to warn him, so he could only assume that his intentions were 'minor' enough to not strain the artifact. But that just led into questions as to how it knew his intentions in the first place...

...time enough to wonder about that, later. For now, it was eerily quiet, and with good reason; Victor was within Inquirata's laboratory just after he had made his escape. Indeed, the only sound he could hear was sparking wires and machinery; the low murmur of voices he had once been so used to was silent, and about him...

He could never forget the sight, but seeing the two bodies up here were more than enough to make him shudder. There were others, down in the pit, but he'd take care of those in a moment; first things first. Even from here, he could tell there was no hope for Shane; the man was still and unmoving, skewered through the stomach. But the other one...

Victor hadn't had the chance to see what had happened to him, but now he knew; Hei still breathed.

Immediately, he rushed over, kneeling by the crumpled form of his friend. Months, it had been, and perhaps he had only known Hei for weeks - much less time, trusting him as a close ally. But Hei, like others, had fought for Victor, even hardly knowing what he was doing in the first place - and as Victor rolled him onto his back to take a closer look, he knew, deep down inside, that he was finally repaying the favor.

"Stay with me, my friend," he murmured, assessing the other's state as he brushed some blood from his forehead. Hei seemed unconscious, but considering the last Victor had seen of him he'd been thrown into machinery - perhaps that wasn't surprising. He certainly looked worse for the wear, and Victor couldn't quite tell from where that blood had been seeping. Perhaps he could bring him to Aillard and Primus, perhaps he could evacuate them all to the Underground before the Quintessons came…

But one step at a time. He reached forwards pulling one of Hei's arms across his shoulders and moving to first his knees, then slowly to a stand as he bore the man's weight. The motion provoked a soft groan from the other, which was, all things considered, encouraging?...or so Victor hoped. Either way, he turned towards the edge of the floor, where the rest of the group that hadn't fought no doubt were trying to decide if it was safe to come out...

Movement. Just out of the corner of his vision- he frowned a bit, turning his head, half-expecting to see a glimmer of gold - but instead, he inhaled sharply at the mass of black that was swirling about like smoke. In fact, the only thing keeping him from calling it smoke was the fact there was no source-

-and, for the briefest of moments, it mimicked Hei's form before swirling once more and moving upright.

Victor instinctively took a step back, throat clenching with a nameless horror at the sight. Everything in him screamed wrong, that this was the precursor to something terrible, and yet he was rooted to the spot as the not-smoke began to - stagger? Slide? - towards him. He remembered nothing like it before, not in Inquirata's lab during his time in it nor in any other memory, and yet something deep within him understood that the mere presence of such was a disaster.

And it was still coming closer.

The realization freed him of his paralysis. Fueled by terrified instinct, he reached for Rhisling, hope-praying he could return when it was safe and absent of this - this thing! But the action seemed to trigger it, too, into movement - it lunged for him, and he choked back a shout as he fell backwards into the spacebridge, still clinging to Hei.

The thing followed.

Within Rhisling, its presence seemed to expand; suddenly, Victor was not looking at a mass of smoke. He was looking at an impossibly large figure, something that seemed to wrap around him in every direction at once. And Rhisling's space, which had grown almost comforting in its familiarity, grew dark - and even darker by the second.

And within his fast-beating heart, Victor knew that if it grew much darker still, then it would be the end. Nothing can escape, not even light- what hope would he, a mere human, have in the face of such a force?

At his side, Hei stirred. Victor risked a glance to him, having half-forgotten about him through the overwhelming panic. A fresh surge went through him at the realization that it wasn't just himself he'd damned in this space; Hei, who very well could have lived through whatever happened next, was as trapped as Victor himself was.

Only- he wasn't trapped, was he? But where could he go? There was no time to figure it out, because it was growing even darker, and Victor desperately reached forwards, forwards-

Forwards.

If Rhisling was anchored to his present, then surely- surely the future could be changed, if he somehow brought this with him into it. With that frantic thought, Victor grabbed hold of Rhisling, hardly caring when or where he went so long as it was away from the shadow-maw that was now closing in, like a great beast-!

The daylight was blinding.

Victor fell onto the ground, Hei grunting as he landed next to him - and stirring, thank god. But there was no time to be thankful, for Victor was looking back over his shoulder before grabbing Hei's own and shoving him down to cover with his own body as a shield. There was a great bestial roar as something dark and dire surged just over their heads before suddenly bursting into countless fragments with a sound like shattering glass.

In the silence that followed, Victor finally, finally let out the breath he'd been holding all this time, and sagged heavily on to Hei's form. The younger man turned his head just enough to blink owlishly up at Victor, his wide brown eyes confused and disoriented.

"Nn...nani kore?"

Victor could only offer him a shaky smile. "Whatever it was, I think it's gone," he replied, the fading adrenaline leaving him all the more weak in its wake. He closed his eyes and breathed as Hei slowly untangled himself, and Victor could hear him slowly getting to his feet and making a soft sound of wonder. And when Victor opened his eyes once more and let himself take in the surroundings...

He could see why.

The cities of his memory - well, London, really - were bright and vibrant, but nothing like this. They were tall, building straining towards the heavens like fingers from an outstretched hand. Crowded, but outside their little shelter of an alley...

Outside was like another world.

Hei lingered only to help him to his feet, and this time, was the one to help Victor move forwards; the two stared slack-jawed at the sights just beyond.

Every color Victor could imagine was either plastered on someone's clothing, or on a wall, or on a screen that was so like one of the tablets except enlarged, a moving poster that Victor couldn't help but recognize as, of all things, an advertisement. It cheerfully invited the observer to visit Wyatt Toys, and another, just past, seemed to be some sort of report? And the buildings-! If London was a hand, then these were spears, great towers that seemed to brush the clouds themselves. Victor's neck hurt as he craned up to try and see the tops, but as he looked back down, once more those colors caught his attention - but this time, he took in just how many people wore them. The streets rivaled London's busiest hours, people bumping shoulders as they carried out their business without a single look back, a few street vendors hawking their wares.

Best of all? There was not a sign of the Quintessons.

People were smiling, laughing, chatting freely without casting constant looks over their shoulders - and if any had seen or heard the thing, they had quickly dismissed it and gone back to their day. That knowledge, alone, made Victor's heart more light than he could ever remember it being, aside from his wedding day - but being here, now, after everything?

"We make it through," he whispered, unsurprised to feel his throat hitching once more - but this time, with emotion other than fear. "By God, we make it through."

So long as it is done - in a sense, it already has been done. Did that connect to will be, Victor wondered? And if so- his throat seized once more, and he looked back towards where the shadow had splintered, but he saw nothing, felt nothing, heard-

"Ah-!" That was Hei, pulling away - Victor wobbled for a moment but managed to stay on his feet by putting a hand on the wall, right as the young man dove into the crowd without hesitation. "I smell food!"

True, there was the scent of something hitting his senses- but Victor, wide-eyed, reached for Hei with a hiss of, "Wait!" To no avail, as the other quickly became lost from his sight. Victor pulled his hand back in uncertainty, staring at where he'd last glimpsed that messy dark hair, and his mind raced as he thought of all the things that could happen to him, he might even have had a concussion, he needed a doctor, he needed-

a drink

Victor's hand flew to his face as he groaned softly, because god, he was tired. Bone-weary in his exhaustion, he was in no state to go after his friend without passing out. Perhaps he could come back and find him again...but Primus had been right. He needed to rest. Hoping that Hei could manage himself at least for a few hours, he took a deep breath and retreated further into the alley, only briefly noting what looked like a figure covered by refuse as he opened Rhisling and stepped through.

He'd been through so much already, there wasn't room for anything else. Not until he'd rested, at least. He just had to remember when he'd left Hei, that was London, yes, he could at least remember that-

-he stumbled, tried to catch himself, and then fell to his hands and knees as he returned to the only-so-familiar room. A control panel, blood, no Soner in sight - but he didn't care, he was so bloody tired that it was all he could do to keep from passing out for the moment. Once he caught his breath, he'd look to see where the man had gotten to, he hadn't forgotten that he still had to be dealt with but surely missing half his arm would keep him quiet...

"You."

#transformers #humanformers #maccadam #fic

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